


That Thrashing Flow

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Brutality, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, Double Penetration, F/M, Forbidden Love, Human/Monster Romance, Lovecraftian, Mild Blood, Monsters, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Painful Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Sneaking Around, Tongue Fucking, oils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: The Abomination waits for the Vestel outside the Hamlet in order to exorcise both their demons, ignoring that it's a tribulation each time... but one they love no matter the blood spilled.A/N: About time I did another DD fic. I love all the characters and these two especially. They BELONG TOGETHER! Also, please heed the tags for warnings. This one is rough.





	That Thrashing Flow

A frothing hunger - laced in viscous saliva - ran between his pulsating teeth with every gargantuan inhale. His ribs spread with damp lungs, suckling nutrients forth from the misty flush hanging between juniper trees and winter-dead elms. Unable or unwilling to catch his hungry breath.

Mortas stood, clutching his moth-eaten cloak as it snapped against eddies of wind, resisting the precipice of his hot lust. The Beast tore earthen flesh from beneath his resolve, racing against the barrier growing too thin to hold such malignancy within. 

If she, an earthly Nephilim, with her odors of confessional oils and cleansed aura, made him wait much longer, the hamlet would surely never rid itself of the bloodshed this night. 

A warm front blew in from the copse to the west; cluttered with wort-riddled trunks that drooped beneath stout hairs of vein work and natural vegetation. Smells of vegetative decay and opal blossoms calmed him only enough to reign back the snap of teeth from his own tongue. 

Somewhere, up on the hills overlooking the sleepy hamlet, a grandfather clock - old and heavy with rusted brass - chimed midnight.

As the rattle echoed in his ears, the chapel door creaked from a quarter-mile away; whispering across stone steeples, cobblestone and wishing wells alike.

His rapacious hunger grew as time ticked… tocked… on… 

Mortas quaked and snarled as the tick-tock became rushing blood in his ears. 

Swish… swash...

He began pacing; bare feet gathering pollen as it fluffed from the jasmine that coiled around the overgrown fountain. 

They chose this spot, or truly… it was her that picked it from the many hidden patches scattered throughout their home. It served well to relieve themselves of needs best kept from watcher's eyes. Mortas knew that, as well as being discrete, it allowed her to come and go as she pleased, rather than invite the possibility that she too… despite her cloth, craved more from him than pure flesh…

She was racing now. Her steps lighter, repeating faster. He could smell her. Eager. Wet… and potent. 

Her footsteps rapt his ears - senses always heightened and forever attuned to the soft ways in which she moved. 

The Beast snorted, stealing her fumes off the stale wind; salivation starting. A gulp of acrid viscosity nearly leaked past his teeth, but the man - the one he protected with anchoring manacles and a meditated mind - swallowed the poison of lust and turned to await his lover. 

Light-as-feather leaves skittered across the uneven stone bed surrounding the long dried fountain. 

He snarled, breathing in her aroma from the same winds that tossed dead petals, dust, and detritus across the path she'd taken. And then… finally, her ceremonial robes of white and rust-red folded forth beneath the moonlight, slipping from the dark oval of a winding arbor. 

For a moment she stood still, quivering underneath her garbs at the sight of him, Mortas: The Beast who ate those that wandered too far from the lantern oiled flames of the street lamps.

"Yoffie," he gargled ritualistically as a pauper to an angel.

Freshly bathed and oiled with clover and rose, he could only barely smell the reeked of her nerves - the reek always upon her flesh within his presence. It did not bother him. Not truly. The outcome of their joining was still the same, so the beginning seemed unimportant, or so he lied to himself, for Mortas wished to court her despite how The Beast always won. 

The Beast needed to shred her garden bloody… to rend her composure to sweat and greed, and lick it off with sharpened canines running down her spine. 

Inside, Mortas felt his resistance crush beneath welcoming lust. Soon, he and the abomination within would be one... more or less... 

Yoffie's bulbous lantern - gripped in gloved fingers the color of wet jade - shook. Firelight chiseled away her pinched expression of concern for cotton-soft acceptance. 

"I thought," she whispered, "perhaps, I'd kept you alone too long." Twin petals opened on her face in a tiny, parted smile, "I am pleased to see you, Mortas."

The Beast scoffed in cynicism, "... you oiled everything?"

Golden diffusion cast her blush a comely posey-color, but she nodded all the same. She knew from experience what occurred when a body's hinges and locks were poorly greased… they broke and tore and bled and neither of them ended up happy to be spent. 

"I…" a hiccup of nerves as she pulled a vial from deep within the folds of her scalloped robes, "I procured a tincture from the beaked doctor. It should assist us this eve."

Us? No. You, he thought; both Man and Beast. 

Mortas sniffed the air. Acrid odors of whale oil, boiled wintergreen and something of otherworldly contents lingered there beneath the thin bruised glass. Whatever it was, the ointment was better than nothing, for as much ardor as he could taste and smell on Yoffie, she was rarely as moistened as she needed. 

"Will you say something?" She begged; gentle and smooth, "Your silence makes me… nervous."

The Beast warped his nails in stiff, black claws, sharpening his teeth as he cracked an eye open under his greasy, hanging locks of darkness. Mortas snarled at the beautiful little priestess ahead of him. Hungry. 

"Remove… your… periapts..." The Beast commanded with hard smog rattling his vocal cords. 

Yoffie's eyes shown against lantern fuzz; panic cutting tension lines into youthful fat. Never had he asked such of her before. Talismans of God kept her soul safe… but not tonight. 

She'd heard The Beast before and knew time was a fickle hourglass tuned to break with the slightest increase in pitch. The longer she stalled, the stronger Beezelbub grew. 

Carefully, she stepped forward, fully entering the clearing.

The lantern banged the stone border of the dead fountain, and quickly - panting heavily - the saintly jewelry was removed and placed beside the haloed lamp rays. 

The last gold chain had not yet nestled to the stone before The Beast lurched forward. 

A startled, feminine cry threw bats of rabidity into the hot night. Winged rats squeaking into cacophony while Mortas grinned into The Beast's wicked teeth, snatching fistfuls of the sweet little Vestel much to her ruddy dismay… and pleasure… for their nights together were never one-sided.

The tincture hidden in her robes slipped from a fold, rattling the mossy-riveted cobblestones. 

"Mortas!" She belched with indignation - almost laughable - and held her terror still while her clothes and sashes were hastily ripped and yanked from her body. 

Human hands lengthened with each tug and grope. Black claws stretch and buckled into hooks that twitched when they made contact with warm, soft flesh. Lines of raised silver scar tissue bumped beneath his touch before meeting the scabs of fresher love-wounds. 

Yoffie hissed, rocking her body away for a clock's tick of time before shoving her bared breasts to his ratty-clothed chest of wiry bulk. 

Each belly-breath ballooned his muscles. Each lick of his tongue engorged his tongue. And every callous-laden caress over her naked flesh filled the log of desire beneath his tattered trousers - moth-eaten threads breaking under the strain. 

"Mortas…" she breathed, "my tincture."

Mortas was The Beast and the other the same. Neither male cared about the tincture now… none of them care for her pain or suffering just her-

A small, aromatic palm managed to cup his knotted cheek in the chaos of their pre-rutting. It snapped his attention to her youthful features long enough to calm The Beast - making the monster sympathetic enough to stall its lust. 

"Calm yourself, my love." Eyes of depthless shade and sincerity stared, only slightly wavering for, truthfully, she had no guarantee that The Beast wouldn't throw her to the stone and fuck her until nothing but meat remained. 

‘My love,’ Mortas thought as The Beast whimpered for sustenance. She'd never said that before… and so, with twitching muscles, a muzzle of teeth and a skull-cracking with twisting horns, Mortas set her bare rump on the fountain ledge to pluck her tincture from the ground. 

"Now," he snarled.

While his loving Yoffie applied sharp smelling oils to her inner-most folds, he rubbed at his manacles, glared at his broken chains and untied the rope holding up his trousers. 

A roll of his shoulders removed the old shawl, and as easily as that, Mortas stood there naked and stiff; staring.

The waxing moon joined in the lantern light. It shone sharp, blue gold where the oil-coated her. Her wrists shook. Her shoulders rattled. Eventually, the tincture was upended and all that silky smooth essence ran thickly down her vulva, her lower lips and further to the crease where supple cheeks met. 

If his poor sweet Vestel thought her whispered affection bought her more time, she was wrong… as she often was. 

The second the slippery tincture fell to the stones, shattering now that the vile was empty, The Beast's horns finally erupted down the back of his neck - throat bulging with tight muscles and veins. He threw himself upon her. 

She winced for the pain of his claws bore fresh wounds despite Mortas hoping against such ugliness. His long, weeping phallus bobbed with rushing blood, needing a few more moments in time to harden fully, but the need outweighed sense. 

Sense… a tragic word in reality. 

The Beast parted his teeth - black eyes bright with lust - and licked a fat tongue beneath her jaw and chin. Claws hard in her hip and thigh, he pulled her lower half nearly off the fountain ledge and rocked his hips forward. His desire, too much to find her oiled chasm the first turn, only bruised her inner thigh.

Mercy was taken upon him after several failed thrusts. 

The same small hand that'd held his face to quell The Beast, now encouraged it, angling his monstrous appendage towards her center. His next ebb forward found her heat of transcendental tightness. 

Yoffie smacked his chest with an open palm - anchoring her body and soul - then threw her head back and screamed. Her great cry was half-lost by The Beast's victorious howling. He was much too focused on the molten vice of her body to worry about her broken threshold. 

Though, whatever pain she ate for him, it did not last. 

Several thrusts were all it took to hit her depths and meet trembling open thighs with his narrow hips of frightful energy. Another deep smack of his abominable flesh and the priestess gasped, clinging to him like a butterfly in the sea wind. Suddenly, egregiously, her bodily essence flowed.

Hints of blood tainted her slickness with violent musk, but The Beast bit the air between them and snarled, bowing up with claws furiously scraping at the fountain ledge beneath her. He balanced himself on his haunches to drive ever deeper and faster within the whimpering, clinging Vestel; mindless in his drive for completion.

Masochism polished her face in sweat. Desire painted her supple chest as her blushing breasts bounced upon her ribs. The bun of hair at her nape spilled in sweaty strands of burnt honey; slick with perspiration and oils that burst with fragrance every time he sheathed himself inside her. Every thrust rattled her into a bouquet of smells and sounds, edging him on. 

The moon frowned down upon her… but grimaced at him - at Mortas and The Beast who never lost a hand. His abomination never went hungry in the end, either by the blood of the bystander or by the tight suckle of this… this lovely little whores body…

"Wilted concubine," The Beast growled in insult; gargling flint as her cunt tightened in reply. "Your lover has abandoned you."

Her lashes - gummed in pitiful tears - fluttered; unsurprised.

"He-" she choked beneath the rapacious rutting, no doubt realizing the organ sliding inside her would soon grow larger the more Mortas the man became the… Abomination… The Beast. 

"He's here." She gasped and dug her frail nails in the muscles and sprouting fur across his shoulders; holding on as every rough pump of his hips grew faster… and fatter, pushing a behemoth-sized cock through such a narrow channel. "He-he won't… won't hurt me."

The Beast threw his head back and bellowed with slobbering laughter. 

"Simpleton!" He harkened to a time long ago when The Beast had first shown it's ugly hubris to her. 

Yoffie was not surprised by the change, but fear did not require surprise. Mortas could be gentle despite the bruises left on her milky skin, yet The Beast would spill his seed in bloodied flesh if his way was fully had.

Within the primal curse, Mortas swallow the urge to slice her belly open and rut the wound. 

The Beast chuckled. The Vestel moaned and fell back upon the fountain’s cool stone; fucked like the dead if not for her whispering chants cut with devious coos.

Her prayers did little but keep her alive for The Beast pulled his oiled cock - the color of brilliant scarlet bruised with purple blotches - from her body. Not to grant her mercy - oh, no. Mortas knew by the hour of the moon, even before she arrived, that The Beast would get what it needed no matter the mortal's will. 

Yoffie was taken by the neck, yanked from the fountain with a strangled gag and throw breast-down upon the fountain stones. The hair from her bun unraveled, spilling over a shoulder and into the still waters mirroring her tear-streaked features. The water rippled, obstructing her angelic expression of pained pleasure. 

"Scream, little one," he demanded, trapping her to the body-warned stones with a spread palm between her shoulder blades. Her back was already ruddy and bruised from the fucking; splattered with indents of dirt and dust and streaked with building sweat.

Yoffie held her tongue, no doubt finding virtue in silence, but The Beast wanted her to scream and she would. So, Mortas tensed, felt a lurch in his chest and vomited forth a long tongue that wiggled briefly across her dusty rump before delving deeply within her cunt.

The plundering tongue gave way to a high cry - a scream - a mewl of pleasure - a prayer for more. 

The priestess balanced her palms and dug fingers into the ledge beneath her, rolling her pelvis into each salty, blood-tang thrust of his tongue. Her taste was better than body-iron spilling in heaps down his throat. Each lick drew out oils coated by musk and blood and freely given intimacy. For a moment, The Beast loved the Vestel as Mortas did. In this, they were one. No selfish goal interfered here.

The Beast gripped Yoffie's blushing cheeks in both abysmal claws, drawing pain indeed, but his eyes rolled back, throwing his head and the sopping tongue from her cavern to slip and slide in firm pulls at her vulva. Each rub and flick engulfed her quivering flesh. The little bud of tight nerves had no escape from the slimy drag of rough taste buds and dexterous manipulation. 

A dip of the tongue betwixt her folds - pulling more flavor for The Beast - only heightened Yoffie's pleasure. He could smell it. Her desire was ripe… so encompassing he became nothing more than a slobbering oaf with a toothy maw and this tongue to connect him with such a lovely creature.

The Vestel trembled. Her cunt cried upon his tongue; leaking with each contraction. Her completion was louder than her pained screams could ever be. For The Beast, they were goading sirens; begging whistles of wind, heaven, and earth.

She was given no reprieve.

"Oh, Mor-"

The Beast peeled her swollen, leaking cunt apart, shoved his engorged, hanging cock through her chasm and laughed with bursts of thunder in his chest. Yoffie gagged soundlessly and Mortas winced; instinct leading him as it did the curse. Blackened claws etched into the lip of stone, squat muzzle bending down over the raised rump bouncing with every smack of his hips.

Saliva oozed between his fangs, drenching her backside… slipping between her cheeks. 

'Uh… uh… ah… haaa…' The saccharine feast beneath him panted. A Vestel with no limits writhed and squirmed; muscles flexing and tendons stretching. She sniffled and gasped and cried for her precious Mortas.

Stretching his jaw, The Beast unfurled his tongue, licked brine from the dimples above her rear then… slowly… slid his tongue between her cheeks to dig the sturdy muscles through a stiff ring of puckered muscle. 

Mortas grinned - The Beast snarled. They both peeled Yoffie apart like a morsel, fucked her cunt until it bruised beautiful busted vessels and tongued her hidden depths with dribbling zeal. She seemed only slightly startled… or perhaps too full with an abominable cock to vocalize the sudden intrusion of his serpentine tongue thrusting into her backside.

Somehow, her insides tasted of holy oils as though she embodied oleaginous. Every pore wept sweat. Hidden as her face was, The Beast knew how her eyes streamed tears into the fountain waters. The ripples across the quivering surface proved as much.

Yoffie seized suddenly, a climactic sign but one ignored. Either by pleasure or pain, The Beast could not care as he gargled around his tongue, twisting it deeper - in and out - feeling how his heavy sack - slapping against her vulva - pulled tight. 

'Feed' The Beast hacked.

'Yoffie' Mortas echoed as festering bliss ate with microscopic teeth up his thighs, into his abdomen and deep… deep inside his reaching, delving cock. His testicles lurched, pulsated and ruptured hot seed through his cock. He snarled, rutting with phallus and tongue into the little morsel of sullied youth. Her quim still milked him in stale orgasmic contractions. Even the ribbed muscles around his tongue pulled and sucked.

The Beast spat semen in thick ropes, coating, and pumping and overflowing her after the third stream of ejaculate. Mortas came inside his love - his sweet Vestel that took his cursed desires upon herself… for good or ill. He slid his tongue from between her cheeks, slurping up the line of bubble-flesh to the middle of her sweat-coated back where he panted, snarled and whimpered with the last spurts of his exorcism.

"Begone," Mortas whispered hoarsely, feeling The Beast chuckle beneath his chest before curling back beneath chains of reason. He sagged forward, calves burning and feet nothing but broken blisters on the cobblestones. His stomach twitched above Yoffie's spit drenched rump… most likely raw and over-stretched.

"... my lady?" The question tasted of oil, blood, and brine.

Yoffie made a sound to prove she was not yet dead. Her lungs rattled and her heart pushed blood through her body with thick pulses he could taste on her skin. That long bestial tongue was less the heavy roped vein and tendon it had been when rutting her backside, but the off-green muscle was still a mortals fever dream and he gave her spine a soft lick of it, tasting more than her heartbeat…

Beneath his tongue, her chest vibrated gently, "You will…" a satisfied sigh, "wash your mouth out before you kiss me good eve."

Mortas felt the last crack of bone settled in his face as The Beast's hellish muzzle flattened into the ragged features he'd grown into over the years. Eyes never more than black bulbs, but a face more or less human. He smirked, half-expecting her to gather her robes and dash back up the steps to her chapel because of his depravity, but alas, she chose to lay with something like him… a little plunder of her arse was not so shocking in comparison.

With teeth raking her shoulder and his cock still wedged within her dewy flesh, he growled gaily, "The eve is not yet over… my love."

It was finally then that she jerked in surprise, but Mortas' feast was just beginning for The Beast might have been fed, but he was still famished.

Although, despite her initial thrash of disapproval, Yoffie eventually allowed him to carry her - naked and brilliant - to a mossy patch of earth where he would do better to be gentle. 

The oils were spent after all and his priestess, flushed with satisfaction, deserved a welcome reward for her resilience. Of that, Mortas would make sure she received…

… until the sun rose over the copse and the crows replaced the bats…

… until his Vestel was boneless and loved as she deserved… only then would he stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading. I hope it was enjoyable. If you have the time, please let me know what you thought down below. As usual, all errors are my own. <3
> 
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